


To Grandmother's House We Go

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-29
Updated: 1999-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-10 17:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11131689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Bob and Benton Fraser must deal with Caroline's death. Spoilers for Call of the Wild.





	To Grandmother's House We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

To Grandmother's House We Go

## To Grandmother's House We Go

by Mary

* * *

After studying "dueSouth" references to the death of Caroline Fraser, particularly in the episode "Call of the Wild," I am unable to determine the timeline of events that followed her death. For my story, I was mainly interested to know when Bob Fraser pushed Holloway Muldoon down Six-Mile Canyon. There was talk of a one-and-a-half year long chase, but it is unclear to me whether this includes the time Bob Fraser was hunting him before Caroline was killed. Muldoon told Fraser that Bob wanted to arrest him, but Muldoon had a shotgun. Muldoon further stated "When I shot your mother..." which sounds to me like Caroline was present when Bob was trying to arrest Muldoon. So, apparently Bob had already been looking for Muldoon for his previous crimes. While Ben was going through Bob's journals for clues about Muldoon, he discovered a three-week gap in entries that started the day his mother died. So, for the purposes of my story, I am interpreting this three-week period to include the time during which Bob tracked down and "killed" Muldoon followed by the period of Bob's withdrawal from life that Ben speaks about in "Hawk and a Handsaw." 

If my interpretation does not jibe with Mr. Gross' intentions in regards to these events, well, that's another story. So, there you are, then. 'Nuff said. 

Disclaimer: Regardless of whether these characters and aforementioned events resemble those portrayed on "dueSouth," they do still belong to Alliance. Bindlestitch! 

Drama; Rated R (for two uses of an obscenity; some milder language); Spoilers for "Call of the Wild" 

**TO GRANDMOTHER'S HOUSE WE GO**

by Mary 

Bob Fraser stood just inside his parents' house, carrying his pack and his rifle. It was late evening and the only light was coming from the fireplace, before which his parents sat, reading. He looked like a ghostly apparition, a deeply troubled ghostly apparition. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, his face wan, his clothes and body dirty. He said nothing as he walked, zombie-like, to where George and Martha Fraser sat. 

"Did you bring him in?" his father asked, barely looking up from his book. 

Bob just stared straight ahead, then shook his head ever-so-slightly. 

"Never fear, Son. You'll find him." 

"Already did," Bob answered, standing as if frozen in place. 

"But you didn't bring him in? I don't understand." 

"No need." Bob turned his head to look at his father. "He's dead." 

"Dead?" 

"Down Six-Mile Canyon." 

"You saw him go down?" 

"Oh, yes. I saw to it, all right," Bob confessed. 

"You're not saying...?" George asked. 

Bob nodded. 

"I see. Well, you'll have to live with that now. For the rest of your life, and maybe beyond," his father said, sounding more like a preacher than a librarian. 

"After what he did, he didn't deserve to live. A life in prison would've been too good for him. This I can live with." Bob resolved, as he looked at his mother with eyes both proud and sorrowful. 

"You're a Mountie, remember. Not God." 

Bob said nothing and went over and kissed his mother. 

"What about the boy?" his father asked. 

"What about him?" Bob replied with irritation in his voice. 

"Can he live with it?" 

"This has nothing to do with Benton." 

"She was his mother." 

"Yes, and she's dead. That's all he needs to know." 

"He'll need to know the truth someday. You can't hide it from him forever." 

"When that time comes, I'll tell him. He's just a little boy, for chrissakes. You want me to tell him his mother was murdered?" Bob responded impatiently, his voice getting louder. 

"Will you also tell him how his father became a killer as well?" 

"Why don't you sit down, Bob," his mother finally said, hoping to defuse the escalating situation between father and son. 

Bob just shook his head and said, "Where's Benton?" 

"He's sleeping, of course. We were just about to go to bed ourselves." Martha Fraser put down her book and stood. 

"Well, good, then don't let me keep you. I'll just get Ben and we'll be on our way." Bob started to walk toward the bedroom. 

"Be on your way where?" his mother asked with surprise. 

"Home, where d'ya think? I do still have a home, you know, for what it's worth." 

"No need to get snippy with your mother, Son! I thought I brought you up to have better manners than that," George scolded him as he got up and walked over to him. 

"Sorry, Mother," Bob apologized. He didn't see Ben appear from the bedroom. "But, you know, we murderers aren't by nature a polite lot." 

"Shhh! Bob!" His mother pointed to where Ben stood, wiping sleep from his eyes. 

"Oh, Son, good, you're up," Bob said. 

"Hi, Dad," Ben replied sleepily. He hadn't seen his dad for two weeks. Not since the day his mother died. He barely recognized him now. 

"Go get dressed. We're going home," Bob ordered him coldly. 

"Bob, I'm not going to allow you to take him away in the middle of the night. There's no reason you can't wait till morning," Martha asserted. Then she turned to Ben and said "Go back to bed, Honey." 

"I told you to get dressed, Benton! Now don't make me tell you again!" Bob raised his voice to his six-year old son. 

"Stay where you are, Ben," Martha ordered. 

"You're not thinking straight, Son. Have you been drinking?" George asked. 

"I think a little drink is the least of my worries these days, Dad, don't you? Now, if you two don't mind, Benton is still my son and right now I would like to take him home with me." 

Ben looked from his father to his grandmother, unsure as to whom he should obey. 

"All right. Fine. If you're going to insist..." his mother answered. 

"Yes, I am." 

"Very well. Ben, do as your father asks. Do you need some help?" 

"No, Grandma. I can do it myself." But before he left the room, he looked at his father and asked, "Is Mum at home, Dad?" 

Bob immediately became enraged and went over to Ben, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and hurting him. 

"Why did you ask me that? You know very well your mum is not at home! Don't you?" Bob yelled at him. 

Ben was afraid to say anything, so he just stood there, squinting in pain. 

"Answer me!" Bob tightened his grip on Ben's neck. 

"Yes, Sir!" Ben cried. 

"Let go of him, Bob!" Martha ordered as she physically removed Bob's hand from Ben. "You're hurting him!" 

Bob stepped away from Ben, suddenly realizing what he had done to his son, but too proud and too depressed to apologize. He looked at Ben, who was wrapped in his grandmother's arms, crying, and he hated himself even more. 

"We understand you're grieving, Son," George spoke with compassion to Bob, "but you needn't take it out on the boy. Perhaps you'd best leave him here for a while until you've..." 

"No, no, no. All right, I lost my head. I'm fine now." He kept his distance as he spoke to Ben. "Son, be a good boy, stop crying, and go get your things. You can sleep in your own bed tonight. Wouldn't you like that?" 

"I guess," Ben whispered back, drying his tears. 

"Okay, then, go on. I'll wait right here for you." 

Ben looked up at his grandmother who gave him a kiss on the head and then sent him off with a pat on the behind. 

"You can't fly off the handle like that every time he mentions his mum..." Martha started. 

Bob turned and walked away from his mother, shaking his head. 

"...He's only a boy," Martha continued. "He's confused. His mother has disappeared and he doesn't understand why she won't come back. That's a scary thing for a six-year old." 

"I explained it to him. I told him she's dead. He knows." 

"He knows, but he doesn't understand. It's going to take time, Bob. If you threaten him any time he mentions her..." 

"He's my son, Mother. Let me deal with it, please. Caroline is dead. No point in talking about it. No point dwelling on it. Just gotta move on. Gotta move on." 

"Is that why you ran off the day she died, without so much as a how-do-you-do to your son? You didn't even show up for the funeral! How do you think that made Benton feel?" Martha asked him. 

"Finding Muldoon was the important thing. For Caroline's sake. Ben will understand that some day." 

"And now?" his mother asked. 

"And now what?" Bob responded. 

"What are your plans now, Son?" George asked. 

"Plans? What plans?" 

"Well, Benton, for one thing. He needs schooling, and now that his mother isn't around..." 

"You schooled me, so I reckon I can teach him anything he needs to know." 

"And what happens when you're off on your job? Who's gonna look after Benton while you're away?" 

"I'm not going anywhere..." Bob started to say when Ben reappeared, dressed and carrying his knapsack. "Ah, ready, Son?" 

"Yes." 

* * *

"You go on to bed, Son. It's very late," Bob told Ben as they returned home in the dead of the night. 

"Will you come in and say goodnight?" 

"I can do that right here. Goodnight, Son," he said and patted him on the head. 

"Grandma and Grandpa always came to my room to say goodnight. Like Mum..." Ben was afraid he had said the magic word that would again set off his father's anger. But no wrath descended upon him this time, much to his relief. He resolved to be more careful in the future. 

"I see," Bob replied calmly. "Well, go on, then. I'll be in in a minute." 

Ben smiled faintly and turned and ran to his room. 

Bob went straight for a bottle of whiskey and took it over to the sofa where he laid down and began to drink heartily. Within minutes, the bottle slipped from his hands as he fell unconscious, the remaining contents spilling to the floor. 

Ben had resisted falling asleep so as to be awake when his father came to say goodnight. Finally, he gave up waiting and crept out to the outer room, where he found Bob passed out on the sofa. He picked up the fallen bottle, cleaned up the mess, and then crawled on top of his father, pulled a blanket over them, and went to sleep. 

* * *

Ben was awake with the roosters the next morning. He gave his father a hug and kissed him on his hairy cheek, but it was apparent he was not going to wake yet, so he clambered down, covered Bob with the blanket, and went to his room to get dressed. 

An hour later, Bob awoke to the sound and smell of sausages frying on the stove. He opened his eyes and saw Ben, perched on a stool, cooking a full breakfast. 

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Bob asked, startling Ben into temporarily losing his balance on the stool. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." 

"I'm okay. I made you breakfast. Eggs and sausages. And toast." 

"So I see, so I see. Grandma and Grandpa teach you that?" As he spoke those names, he remembered his promise to tuck in Ben last night, and he felt a stab of guilt. 

"I watched them. I think I remembered everything they did," Ben said as he surveyed his handiwork, proud of his accomplishment. He was enjoying this taste of new-found independence, which he had seemed to earn overnight. His mum would have spanked him if she'd ever caught him playing by the stove. But Mum wasn't here now. 

"Just coffee for me, Son. Afraid I'm not really hungry this morning." Bob watched Ben turn off the fire and step away from the stove. He looked totally dejected. Damn, I'm a lousy excuse for a father! he thought to himself. He had hoped this was going to work, he and his son making a life together, but the way things had gone so far, it didn't look promising. "Thanks, Benton," he said as Ben handed him a cup of coffee, black, just the way he liked it. Really black, in fact. "Mmm," he lied. "Now that's a cup of coffee, Son!" He smiled at Ben, who leaned against the sofa next to his dad, and patted his shoulder. 

While Ben cleaned up the breakfast mess, Bob got up and snuck a good deal of whiskey into his coffee. At least he thought he snuck it. In actuality, Ben was very aware of his father's movements. 

* * *

Bob was very easy to keep track of over the next several days. After he finally got up in the morning, he'd get drunk and then hang around not doing much of anything. He never, ever, left the cabin, except to relieve himself, which didn't really count. Sometimes, he'd sing songs. But never happy ones. Dark, tragic songs that reflected the way he was feeling inside. These songs always scared Ben and, if he couldn't get his dad to stop singing them, he'd go to his room, close the door, and lie on his bed and empty himself of the tears that were always on the verge of bursting forth. On one occasion, Bob discovered Ben indulging in a good cry and ordered him, in no uncertain terms, to cease immediately. He warned Ben that such behavior would be punished in the future, so Ben took to going for long walks in the woods whenever he could not restrain himself any longer. 

* * *

"It's a regulation RCMP Stetson. Smallest size I could find. Might be just a little big on you yet," Gerrard explained as he handed Ben the gift he and Buck Frobisher had brought him upon their visit a week after Bob's return home. 

"Wow!" Ben's face beamed with unrestrained joy as he held the Stetson in his hands. It was just like the one his father sometimes wore. 

"Try it on," Gerrard urged him. "Let's see what kind of Mountie you'd make." 

Ben lifted the heavy hat to his head and placed it there proudly. It covered his eyes and most of his nose, but his joyful smile was plainly visible. 

"Very handsome, but better wear it back, like this, until you grow into it," Buck Frobisher advised as he tilted the hat on Ben's head. "A Mountie needs to be able to see where he's going." 

"Look, Dad. I'm a Mountie," Ben said proudly as he strutted about the room. 

"Holy Moly! So you are!" Bob replied. 

The hat fell over Ben's eyes as he walked about the room, and he bumped into his father. 

"Hang on there, Mister!" Bob said as he lassoed Ben with his arm. "I don't think I've heard you thank these kind gentlemen," Bob reminded him, pressing his hand down firmly on the Stetson that hid Ben's face. 

"Oh! Thank you kindly for the hat, Sirs. It's the best present I ever got!" Ben's lips moved excitedly under the brim. 

"You're quite welcome, Son," Gerrard answered. 

"Now, you ask your dad how to properly care for that Stetson, young Cadet. A Mountie prides himself on the maintenance of his uniform," Buck encouraged him. 

"I will," Ben promised. 

Either of these guys would make Ben a better father than I do, Bob thought to himself as he listened to them. He turned Ben around to face him and said, "Benton, go bring me...." but was interrupted by Ben. 

"No, Dad. Don't call me Benton. Call me Cadet," Ben corrected him as he pushed the hat off his face and looked up at his dad. 

"Ah, of course. Cadet Fraser, fetch a fresh bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and bring us three glasses." 

Ben's expression turned suddenly downcast at this order, and he hesitated to comply. He had come to despise that bottle of whiskey more than anything else in the world. 

"Well, Cadet, don't just stand there. That was an order. A good Cadet never disobeys an order." 

Ben could tell by the tone of his father's voice that he was dead serious. This was no longer a game. "Yes, Sir," he replied as he slowly went to perform his task. 

Buck and Gerrard eyed each other and nodded, and Buck moved closer to Bob to have a word with him. 

"Well, partner," Buck said. "How soon can I expect you back in the saddle, so to speak?" 

"Well, that's, er..." Bob was interrupted by the sound of glass crashing to the floor. He looked to see Ben standing in the middle of the room with a broken bottle of whiskey at his feet. "What on Earth!" 

"I'm sorry, Dad. It fell out of my hand," Ben lied innocently to his father. He was willing to incur his father's anger in order to keep him from another drink. 

"Perhaps you'd better be more careful in the future. Waste is sinful, Son. Not to mention costly." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Very well. Go get another bottle, then clean up that mess." 

"That was the last one, Dad." 

"What? Couldn't have been. There was a whole case..." 

"It's all gone." 

Bob sighed and made a conscious effort not to take out his frustration on Ben. "Clean up that mess. But, first, you'd better apologize to our guests. Due to your carelessness, I have nothing to offer them." 

"There's some milk in the fridge..." Ben saw his father's angry glare so he shut up and bowed his head contritely. 

"No apology necessary, Bob, really. I'm sure it was an honest mistake," Gerrard said, giving Ben a subtle, knowing smile. 

Bob nodded impatiently to Ben, who then went about cleaning up the broken bottle of whiskey. Buck winked at Gerrard, then went over to help Ben so that Gerrard could have a serious talk with Bob. 

"How much longer do you plan to let this go on?" Gerrard asked, sternly. 

"That depends. What exactly do you mean by "this?" Bob asked. 

"Look at yourself, Bob. When was the last time you cleaned yourself up?" 

"What's the point?" 

"You're a Mountie, for God's sake!" 

"I was a Mountie. Now, I'm just another killer. Just like the killers we've been bringing in all these years." 

"That's ridiculous, and you know it." 

"I don't know any such thing. I killed a man. And, in a way, I suppose you could say I killed Caroline, as well." 

"Now there's not the slightest truth to that!" 

"Isn't there? Why do you think Muldoon shot Caroline? To stop me from bringing him to justice. I had to tend to Caroline, and he got away." 

"It's your duty to hunt down and arrest criminals. Any Mountie worth his salt will pursue his prey to the ends of the Earth." 

"Yes, but he doesn't kill him in cold blood when he finds him. I'm not fit to wear the uniform anymore. I'm just not fit." 

"There were extenuating circumstances. Everyone knows that. Nobody blames you for pushing him down that canyon. You know, word is you're up for Sergeant for tracking him down." 

"That's it. Rub it in even harder!" 

"I can't say I wouldn't have done the exact same thing in your position." 

"No, you're no murderer, Gerrard," Bob said, looking into his eyes. Then he suddenly turned and paced agitatedly. "Damn! I need a drink. Benton would have to break the last darn bottle!" 

"Another drink is the last thing you need. Dammit! Look at yourself, or, if you can't stomach that, look at your son. You really think it was an accident that he dropped that bottle?" 

Bob looked at Gerrard and then at Ben. He sighed and sat in a chair by the hearth. Gerrard looked to Buck and signaled for him to join them. 

"Look, Bob, why don't I take Benton with me for a few days. Give you some time alone to figure things out," Buck suggested as he sat across from Bob. "This is no environment for a boy his age. Fetching whiskey all day for a father who's given up on life." 

Bob looked at Buck silently for a moment. He wanted Ben to remain with him, but he knew that what Buck said was true. "Benton, come here for a minute. I want to talk to you," Bob ordered Ben, who was just finishing his chore. 

Ben went over and stood apprehensively before his father, who leaned forward in his chair and put his hands on Ben's shoulders. 

"Constable Frobisher has invited you to stay with him and his family for a few days." 

"Are you leaving again, Dad?" Ben asked anxiously. 

"No. I'll be staying here." 

"Then I want to stay here, too." 

"It's just for a few days, Son." 

"No. I don't wanna go." 

"I've got a daughter about your age, Benton. The two of you could have a lot of fun together," Buck tried to entice him. 

"Hear that? Someone to play with. Doesn't that sound fun?" Bob asked. 

"No. I don't wanna," Ben said, almost crying. 

Bob sighed. He understood that Ben wouldn't want to go live with a strange family at this time, but he also knew it would be for his own good not to be around his dad right now. 

"Well, that's that, then, I guess," Bob said as he patted Ben's shoulders. 

"You won't make me go?" 

"No, I won't make you go to the Frobisher's," Bob answered, and Ben smiled at him. "You can go spend some time with your grandparents instead." 

"But, Dad..." Ben's smile instantly disappeared. 

"You like Grandma and Grandpa. You'll be fine there. Buck, could I impose upon you to drop Ben off on your way home." 

"Certainly." 

"No, Dad, I said I wanna stay here with you," Ben protested. 

"I know you did, Son. But I've got to do what's best for you, and right now, what's best for you is to send you to Grandma and Grandpa's while I, er, take care of some business. You're just going to have to trust me on this, Benton. Now, you be a good boy and go pack your bag so Constable Frobisher can drive you over there," he said as he gave Ben a firm slap on the behind. 

Ben began to openly cry and did not move. "No, I won't," he said stubbornly. 

"What did you say?" Bob asked firmly, squeezing Ben's shoulders. 

Ben summoned all of his courage and stated emphatically, "I'm staying with you, Dad. I won't go with Fuck Brobisher!" Ben's heart raced and he held his breath as he waited for his father's reaction to his outburst. He was shocked to hear his dad explode in uncontrolled laughter. 

"Well, I'm glad you find this so amusing!" Buck exclaimed in disgust. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Buck, er, or is that Fuck?" Bob continued to laugh, burying his head in his hands, wiping away tears of laughter. 

"No, it most certainly isn't!" Buck stated. "And let me tell you, if a kid of mine ever dared to speak so obscenely, he'd quickly find himself over my knee!" 

"I'm not your kid," Ben said boldly to Buck, while thinking And don't give my Dad any ideas! His father had been known to employ the rod for such offenses, and he was angry at Buck for encouraging his father to do so now. He was glad he'd said what he had, even though his anger hadn't been meant for Buck at the time. 

"You'll watch that smart mouth of yours if you know what's good for you, young man," Buck reprimanded Ben, who moved to the side of his father's chair and placed his hand on Dad's lap, seeking asylum. 

Bob placed his hand on top of Ben's and brought himself under control. "All right, all right. That's enough. Ben, you know I don't allow that kind of language from you, don't you?" 

Ben nodded his head penitently and looked at the floor. 

"Okay, go to your room. We'll finish this later." 

"I can stay?" he asked hopefully. 

"We'll talk about it later," Bob said, a hint of irritation evident in his voice. "Now, apologize to Constable Frobisher for your rudeness, then go to your room and wait for me." Bob pulled Ben back around to the front of the chair to face Buck. 

"I'm sorry, Sir," Ben said sincerely, his head bowed and his Stetson totally hiding his face. 

Buck stood up and walked over to Ben, put his hand to Ben's chin to lift his head, and pushed the Stetson back off his face. "A good Mountie is obedient and respectful to his elders and superiors, Cadet Fraser," he said with gentle sternness. 

Ben was taken aback by Buck's kindness and didn't know what to say. 

"'Understood' is your response, Cadet," Gerrard instructed Ben. 

Ben looked at Gerrard and then back to Buck and answered, "Understood, Sir." 

"Good. Apology accepted. You're dismissed, Cadet," Buck said. 

Relief was apparent on Ben's face as he saluted Buck, who returned the salute. When he passed by his father on his way to his room, Bob gave him a quick wink, and Ben winked back. 

"I think it's a mistake to let him stay here," Buck said to Bob after Ben had left the room. 

"He's right," Gerrard agreed. "A little boy doesn't know what's best for himself." 

Bob stood up and paced about the room. "He's lost his mother. He doesn't want to lose his father, too. I can understand that." 

"Well, sure, so can I," Gerrard answered. "But hasn't he already lost his father?" 

"You've let Muldoon defeat you. You killed him, but you've lost your life as well," Buck pointed out. 

"You may have given up on life, but you've no right to bring your son down with you. He needs to be among the living," Gerrard said. 

"Well, I appreciate the confidence you both are showing in me, I must say," Bob said sarcastically. 

"Just calling it as we see it, Bob," Buck answered. 

"Besides, you're the one who said you were nothing but a cold-blooded murderer now," Gerrard added. 

"Shhh!" Bob silenced them. "You want Benton to hear you?" Bob went over to the hearth and picked up a family photograph that was on the mantle. He could not restrain the tears that began to weep from his eyes. "I'd like to be alone now," he said simply, without turning to face his friends. 

* * *

Ben entered the outer room to find his dad searching through the cupboards. He saw the photograph lying on the table and picked it up to look at it. 

"What're you looking for, Dad?" Ben asked. 

Bob was startled and turned quickly, holding a bottle of whiskey in his hands, and saw Ben with the photograph. 

"Put that down, please," Bob ordered Ben, who immediately obeyed. "That's the only..." Bob could not finish his sentence. 

"I'll be careful," Ben promised. He was already starting to forget what his mum looked like, since he didn't have a photograph to remember her by. 

"You're not to touch that! Understand?" Bob said sternly. 

"Yes, Dad." 

"Good. Now, look what I found in the cupboard," Bob said accusingly as he showed the bottle to Ben. "It appears that bottle you broke wasn't the last of it after all. Was it?" 

"No, Dad," Ben admitted in a whisper. "I'm sorry I lied." 

"Yes, well, I think I understand. But I don't expect it'll happen again, will it?" 

"No," Ben replied softly, shaking his head, rocking the Stetson back and forth. 

"Good, because only little boys tell lies. You've got to be a man from now on." 

Ben nodded, looking intently at the bottle of whiskey, his eyes begging his father not to drink it. 

"I thought I told you to wait for me in your room," Bob said, putting down the bottle and walking over to Ben. He lifted Ben and sat him on the counter so he could see his face below the hat. 

"Please don't make me leave, Dad. I want to stay with you," Ben said, ignoring his father's statement. He somehow felt they could talk more as man-to-man this way than they could have if he'd waited for his dad to come to his room. 

"Why on Earth would you want to do that?" 

"'Cause you're my Dad." 

"Do I look like anyone's Dad to you?" Bob asked, indicating his appearance. 

"If you took a bath and shaved and combed your hair I think you might look like him," Ben answered innocently. 

Bob smiled and his frustration melted. 

"Hungry, Son?" 

"No." 

"I'm starved. Fix me some dinner." 

Ben smiled, happy for the opportunity to again show his father what he could do. He jumped down from the counter and prepared a grilled cheese sandwich while Bob sat at the table and watched with pride. Neither of them spoke. 

Ben placed his masterpiece in front of Bob and asked "Do you want some milk with that?" 

"That would be great, Ben. Thanks." 

Ben brought the glass of milk, then sat next to his father and looked hungrily at the sandwich. Bob tore the sandwich in two and handed one half to Ben, who immediately began to wolf it down. 

"Here, better wash that down," Bob said as he placed the glass of milk in front of Ben. 

* * *

An hour later, Ben was asleep at his father's feet in front of the hearth. Bob carried him to his bed, undressed him, placed the Stetson on the bedside table, and covered Ben with the blankets. He then laid down on the bed next to Ben, wrapped his arm around him, and began to sob. Ben woke to his father's weeping and clasped both his hands around his father's hand and they drifted off to sleep together. 

* * *

Upon arising the next morning, Ben was surprised to discover that his father was already out of bed. He found Dad - bathed, shaved, and freshly dressed - sitting at the kitchen table, writing in his journal, with tears staining his face. A breakfast of oatmeal and banana slices was on the table. Without saying a word, Ben spooned some cereal into a bowl and sat at the table next to his dad. He wanted his father to speak first. 

"Never wear your Stetson at the table, Cadet," Bob said as he lifted the hat off Ben's head and placed it on the table beside him. "It's bad manners." 

"Understood, Sir," Ben replied proudly. 

"Good man. You'll do your old man proud. I can spot a promising Cadet through miles of fog." He smiled at Ben who grinned back, ear to ear. As Bob poured a glass of juice for Ben he said, "I thought we could camp by the river for a few days. Catch some fish to take to your grandparents." 

Ben stopped eating and looked at his father. "You're gonna make me stay with them, aren't you?" he asked, tears welling in his eyes. 

"I gotta be getting back on the job, Son." 

"Oh. You're leaving," Ben stated rather than asked. 

"I'm a Mountie, Benton. Do you understand what that means, to be a Mountie?" 

"Yeah, you get to wear one of these hats." 

Bob laughed and tousled Ben's hair. "Well, sometimes, yes. But it also means I have a job to do. A very important job. I'm duty-bound to hunt down and bring in the deadliest, crookedest criminals who roam these lands." 

"Wow! How many crimnals have you killed, Dad?" 

"Killed? Who said anything about killing?" 

"You did. At Grandma and Grandpa's. You said you were a murder..." 

"No, no, no. You must've misunderstood, Son. Mounties don't kill...well, only in the most extreme cases..." 

"What's extreme cases, Dad?" 

"Never mind. That's not important. What is important is...well, remember the motto, Son. 'Bring 'em back alive.'" 

"Okay..." 

"...or 'Go get your man.' Anyway, something like that. Of course, I can't really do that if I stay home. But, if it's more important to you that I stay here with you..." 

Although Ben's heart said Yes, it is, he answered "No," and then had what he thought was a terrific idea. "Can't I come with you? I want to hunt the crookedy crimnals, too." 

"Oh, no, no. Sorry, Ben. This is man's work." Bob realized he'd said the wrong thing as he saw Ben's face immediately sink. "Besides, I've already got a partner. Remember? Buck Frobisher?" 

"Uh, huh. But you said I was a man, Dad." 

"Yes, yes, of course you are, Son." 

"Then couldn't I be your partner, too?" 

Bob's heart was breaking at the sound of his son's earnest pleas. "I want you to listen to me, Benton, and listen good, because I'm only going to say this once..." 

Ben dropped his spoon and gave all his attention to his father. He was afraid he had angered him with his whining. 

"...You are, and will always be, my number one partner. But, you see, Son, partners aren't always able to go everywhere together. That's what makes them partners. They can be thousands of miles apart and still know they're partners. Do you understand?" 

Ben nodded, although it was obvious that he didn't really understand. 

"Partnerships live in here...," Bob said as he placed his hand over his heart, "...and in here," he continued, placing his other hand over Ben's heart. 

The tears in Bob's eyes made it apparent to Ben that he was not thinking about Buck Frobisher when he said this. He was finally crying for Mum. But Ben did not dare to mention his mum, although he ached to do so. 

"You'll always be right here, Ben," Bob said as he tapped his chest quickly, not wanting to dwell on the sentiment. "But, for the time being, you're needed at Grandma and Grandpa's." 

"I am?" 

"They got kind of used to having you around, you know. It's not been easy for them to lose you. You're a handy little man to have around the house. You can cook, clean, feed the chickens. Those are all very important skills. Not to mention they need a student." 

"A student?" 

"Sure. All those books. They need someone to share them with. And you need to learn what's in them. That is, you do if you want to be a Mountie some day. You need schooling to do this job, you know. You don't just put the hat on and suddenly, Bob's-yer-uncle!, you're a Mountie." 

"Understood," Ben answered, ignoring the tears that were running down his cheek. 

"Good man,...partner," Bob smiled at him. "Finish your breakfast, then we'll pack our gear and head out." 

* * *

**THE END**

maryspen@aol.com 


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